


Things Broken, Things Mended

by KaidaShade



Series: Warlords and Weaponsmiths [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Assault, Banshee does not deserve this, Exo Anatomy (Destiny), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Whump, robot gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:00:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24054064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaidaShade/pseuds/KaidaShade
Summary: A run-in with a rival Warlord ends badly for everyone, and Shaxx must confront the realities of loving mortals.
Relationships: Banshee-44/Shaxx (Destiny)
Series: Warlords and Weaponsmiths [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1716991
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65





	Things Broken, Things Mended

**Author's Note:**

> Probably not canon for Warlords and Weaponsmiths but it was bugging me and I wanted it off my chest. Please heed the tags because there's an alarming amount of robot gore here.  
> EDIT: I lied, it's part of the series how.

By the time they found him, Shaxx feared they were too late. He’d seen Banshee hurt before, and even those smaller harms had felt like a knife to his chest, but this… 

He would kill the one who had done this. Permanently

The quiet, broken crackle from Banshee’s throat was the first sign that he was alive as Shaxx dropped to his knees beside him, taking in the damage. Deliberate, calculated for pain without breaking anything that would kill him. Shaxx didn’t know how they had cracked every joint in his hands without damaging any hydraulic lines, stripped away plating and left the workings below untouched, only that the way Banshee flinched when he touched him broke his heart all over again. He was curled up on his side, knees drawn up towards his chest to cradle an arm that had been half-pulled from its socket, one shattered eye flickering weakly as it turned and attempted to focus on Shaxx.

“You… came.” he rasped, barely discernible through the static   
“Shhh. Darling, I’m so sorry…” Shaxx didn’t know where he could put his hands without hurting him more, but he had to get him out of here, “stay with me, please.” He hated the way his voice pleaded, hated the scrape of metal against the hard ground as he slid his arms beneath Banshee’s shoulders and knees and lifted him, hated the rattle and buzz of damaged fans as he was moved and the flash in the back of his mouth that he knew would be a cry of pain from a human.   
“No… Shaxx… they wanted… wanted you. Go.” it cost him to speak, cost him even more to move and grab onto Shaxx’s forearm with trembling fingers, but Banshee was insistent.   
“Not without you. I’m not alone darling, it’s alright. The Iron Lords can have them. I have greater concerns.”   
  
He stood as smoothly as he could, cradling Banshee against his chest. He expected a pool, smears of something beneath him, but the carnage was somehow worse for being bloodless. A few pieces of metal, tiny screws and broken chips of plating, were all that marked the brutal assault. Banshee’s eyes squeezed shut and his fans stuttered, his body warm against Shaxx even through the armour, and he knew he didn’t have much time.    
  
He wasn’t entirely sure how he got back to their little convoy, parked outside the other Warlord’s fortress in the lee of a cliff. His attention had been entirely focused on his precious cargo, every grind and scrape of broken machinery as terrifying as a death rattle. His mechanic went visibly pale when he ducked inside the old hauler they had repurposed, helmet horns scraping the ceiling.   
“Can you fix him?”   
“I… oh Light… I’ll try.” the man stuttered as Shaxx carefully laid Banshee down for him, his hands lingering as he pulled away reluctantly. He wanted to hold him, to try to soothe him, but he could only imagine how much his touch must hurt and it took all of his willpower to back away and let the mechanic work. “It’s gonna take some time. Gonna have to put him out. He might not-”   
“Do what you can.” Shaxx interrupted, turning his back. He was incredibly aware that Banshee might not wake up, didn't think he could bear to hear it said aloud. “I will return shortly. There’s a Warlord who needs to pay for their crimes.”

He returned an hour later with three Iron Lords in tow. Or rather, being escorted by them, though only Saladin quite dared to actually touch him. His fists and helmet were streaked with black fluid and he clutched a frantic Ghost in his hand, the little thing's struggles useless against his fury. He wanted nothing more than to crush it, to punish it too for the awful choices it had made in resurrecting the Exo who had caused so much pain, but his hand had been stayed. His rage had found its outlet anyway, and even Felwinter had seemed shocked by what he had done to the other Risen. 

He entered the truck and dumped the Ghost unceremoniously into the first secure box he could find, to be dealt with later. He heard it rattling around, calling out for him to reconsider, but he ignored it. He was only interested in the mechanic's work. 

The man glanced up from Banshee's prone form, wrist-deep in his chest with a wistful of shredded wiring. "Shaxx, hey. You uh… got them, then?"

"Yes. Any progress?"

"Some. It's a lot of damage. There's materials I'm going to need, stuff that could be hard to find. Might have to be frame parts."

"I can get you spares." It seemed fitting in a macabre sort of way, using the one who had hurt him, but he'd tear bits off of Felwinter if he had to. The Iron Lord would heal, after all. He glanced back to find that he had made himself scarce, almost as if he had read his mind. Only Saladin remained, leaning in the doorway. He would describe it as hovering, if Saladin was the sort of man to show such uncertainty. He met his eyes, and Saladin seemed to sense it even with the helmet. The Iron Lord nodded and left, and Shaxx only hoped that he had understood correctly.

That left him alone with the mechanic and his lover, and he focused on the one of those who was conscious. Normally, watching Banshee sleep would be peaceful, but this was nothing like that. There was none of the soft hum of fans or dim glow of his lights that were normally so endearing, only stillness and blank, unlit bulbs. 

"He's just unconscious? Not…"

"Not dead, I promise. Just… in standby mode I guess, running off backup power while I'm working. Safer for everyone. It's like putting someone under for surgery, he can't feel any of what I'm doing right now." 

"Good. Alright. How… long will this take?" 

The mechanic hummed softly and finished relocating the wires before he replied. "I wish I could tell you. I really do. I'm not an expert; I can keep an Exo running but most of what I know comes from working on frames and Banshee telling me shit that he knows. With the right parts, working flat out, I can put him back together in a few days. But what he'll be when I'm done…" he shook his head, "probably alive but… maybe not Banshee."   
  
Shaxx felt his chest tighten, but tried to keep his body language neutral. He was grateful for his helmet and how it hid his expression, but the mechanic knew him well enough to understand. “I’ll do what I can. He’s important to the rest of us, too.” 

Shaxx just nodded, finding a seat nearby while the mechanic got back to work. Time went a little strange for a while as he stared blankly at Banshee’s unconscious form. He barely acknowledged when Saladin dragged the Warlord’s shattered frame into the truck, just closed his eyes and tried to ignore how the mechanic winced at the carnage before coming over to pick through for something useful.    
  
Saladin came over to sit by him, leaning in close so he could speak quietly. “We should move out. Head home, where you’ll both be safe from retaliation.” He rumbled.   
“Mmm. You’re right of course.” Shaxx pushed himself up, taking one last look. “I’ll give the order. Where are Efrideet and Felwinter?”   
“On the roof, keeping watch. They… thought you might need some time.”    
“I suppose if they want to truck surf I can’t stop them.” He shook his head. His feet felt heavy as he stepped outside, forced himself to stand tall and called out to the others to get moving. The woman driving the truck threw him a thumbs up and a few others came to the sound of his shout, piling in as he stepped back inside and retreated to the far end where he could lurk near Banshee. Unsurprisingly, his people kept their distance.

The drive was a long one, and quiet. Shaxx reached out and twined his fingers with Banshee’s limp hand, unwilling to let go now that he had him back for fear that he would disappear. Waking up to him missing had been dreadful, he couldn’t imagine how awful losing him forever would be. He didn’t leave his side even when they arrived back at the fortress and the mechanic didn’t try to make him, just worked around the huge, hunched figure of the Warlord with a fragile Exo hand clasped between his huge ones and held close to his face.   
  
It took a while before he noticed that they were alone. The silence seemed far too loud, only his own rough breathing keeping it from pressing on his ears. He hadn’t realised how accustomed he’d gotten to the sound of ventilation systems, the soft whirs and creaks that an Exo’s body made even at rest. Seeing Banshee so still, so quiet, left a heavy weight in his gut that he couldn’t shift and kept him tied to his side. “I don’t know if you can hear me,” He murmured, “but I need you to fight. I need you to be strong. I… I don’t know if I can bear it if you don’t wake up. Even if you don’t remember me, just having you here would be enough. We could rebuild what we have, I’m sure of it.”    
  
He trailed off, sighed to himself and closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he believed that the Traveller could hear him, even with his Ghost hovering near his shoulder, but he sent a silent prayer that way in the dim hope that it might intervene. His Ghost nuzzled into his neck and he took one hand away from Banshee to cover it, taking comfort from the little machine’s warmth and the soft glow of its Light, but made no move to leave.   
  
He stayed for the days it took to complete the repairs, and for days more. Banshee didn’t stir, even once his power supplies were properly reconnected, and the mechanic had no good explanation for it. Shaxx could only assume that it took some time for an Exo’s mind to reboot properly- he just had to hope it wasn’t the full kind that left them shells of their former selves. He did his best to stay awake, despite his Ghost and Saladin’s protests, but after such a long time he could feel himself drifting in and out, dozing off hunched up in his chair. 

He didn’t know how long he slept, only that he was woken by a soft tap on his helmet, the brush of hard fingers just under his jaw where the thin fabric of his undersuit met his helmet and he could feel the touch. His gaze met the dim, uneven glow of Banshee’s eyes, unfocused but looking at him nonetheless, and it was all he could do not to cry with joy and sweep him into his arms. “You’re awake.” He said, trying to restrain himself.   
“Yeah. Kinda wish I wasn’t, but at least the view’s good.” Banshee said. He sounded like shit, his voice rough and rasping, and keeping his hand up seemed like a lot of effort so Shaxx gently took it in his own and held it against his face where he could nuzzle into his palm. “What happened?”   
“You don’t remember?”   
“I remember… getting grabbed?” Banshee frowned, his free arm shifting like he was going to push himself up before he thought better of it, wincing a little, “There was a Warlord… no, it’s gone.”   
“That might be for the best.” It was a relief, at least. A small mercy. “Does it still hurt?”   
“Everything’s sore. Takes the receptors a while to calm down after stuff gets fixed. How long was I out?”   
“I.. hmm.” How long  _ had _ it been? The days had run into each other.    
_ “A week and a half.”  _ Shaxx’s Ghost supplied helpfully, and he winced inside the helmet. Oh, no wonder he hadn’t been able to stay awake…   
“Oh. That’s… hmm. That’s a while.”    
“You’re alive and you’re awake now, that’s what matters.” And he remembered him, so small victories. Except Banshee was squinting at him as he focused a little better, and there was something suspicious about the look.   
“There’s something on your helmet. Is that hydraulic fluid?”   
“...perhaps.”   
“Did you kill them?”   
“I… might have.”   
“Have you changed since then? Cleaned your armour? Eaten?”   
“You’ve been in a coma for a week and  _ you’re  _ trying to take care of  _ me _ ?”

“Someone has to.” Banshee sighed and let his head fall back on the table, eyes closing for a second. For a moment Shaxx almost panicked, worried he’d shut down again, but his fans were running and the smaller lights that dotted his body were still on. “You need food. So do I. But… hmm, not food. Any metal turnings or anything around?” He managed to push himself onto his side, and Shaxx let go of his hand to allow him to do so, instead placing a palm on his back to steady him as he reached out to grab a few stray screws from the table next to him. He was too startled to stop him when Banshee stuffed them in his mouth and swallowed, then slumped like that much effort had exhausted him.   
  
“Did you just swallow those?”    
“Self repair.” He explained, summoning his strength to grab a few more. “Meant more for wear and tear but it helps new parts integrate. Gotta have the materials to work with.”   
“Is that… you know, I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing.”   
“Mmm. Trust me, I do. And I know what you need to do, too. Go eat. Even your Ghost can’t keep you from starving.”

Banshee was right, of course, but Shaxx still didn’t go. The Exo slumped back onto his back and looked over at him. “I’m sorry, darling. I still don’t want to leave you.” Shaxx admitted   
“Hey. I’m not going anywhere.” Banshee softened a little, eyes dimming slightly. “Take me with you if you gotta, but take care of yourself too. For once I don’t even mind you carrying me around.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” The mechanic would kill him, but Shaxx didn’t care. He was immensely careful as he scooped Banshee up, delighted when the Exo curled against his chest and got comfortable. “Does this hurt?”   
“Feels better, actually.” His mouth light flickered in the ghost of a smile, and Shaxx leaned down to bump his helmet against his forehead.    
“Then I shall just have to keep holding you!” he declared, and feeling lighter than he had in nearly two weeks he turned and swept out of the workshop, his arms full of Exo and his heart full of joy.


End file.
